


Pants

by VeryImpressive



Series: Distraction [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: A little angst, Bruce is Bruce, Brudick - Freeform, Dick's ass, Fluff and Humor, I swear, M/M, One of these days I'll write about something else besides Dick's backside, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple, brucedick - Freeform, leather pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 16:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImpressive/pseuds/VeryImpressive
Summary: He suspected the way the leather tightly contoured and molded itself to the curve of his ass was a purposeful factor in Bruce’s choice, perhaps it was the only one.When he looked up, sure enough, he found Bruce staring.[Companion to "Distraction", "Swat", "Birthday", "I Don't Care (Take Me Anywhere" and "You're Beautiful (Good Lord You're Beautiful)"] [BruDick]





	Pants

**Author's Note:**

> Ha! I finally got something I could add to this.

"I might as well be naked." 

 

"That's _not_ what we're going for here." 

 

Many years ago, Dick had learned that most of the time it was acceptable to shut up and let Bruce's plans run their course. There weren't many people that possessed the kind of logic that he did. A seemingly unintelligible maze of twists and turns, when one found themselves caught in it, you quickly learned to never take anything at face value. Often thinking two steps ahead, and three steps to the left, Bruce threw out bits and pieces that were otherwise senseless at first, only making sense at the conclusion. 

 

He'd also learned that it was a good rule of thumb to go along with what was needed.

 

He might have offered his fair share of complaints, and he may have harbored _many_ doubts, but he'd never once entertained the possibility of resisting. His complaints were often made in half-jest, and it never took long for his doubts to be demolished by Bruce's planning. It could never be said that Bruce's forethought had failed. Dick, at least, couldn't remember a single instance of it happening, not with _him_ present there. 

 

But Dick found that he couldn't hold his tongue here. 

 

Looking up at Bruce through the full mirror, he glared. "Bruce, I really can't help but wonder if you're using this as a chance to dress me up like some slutty mall manikin.”

 

Shirtless, he was dressed in nothing but a pair of black leather pants, and a studded belt. The pants were tight, indescribably tight. He figured that if he attempted to do so, he wouldn’t be able to sit down, let alone walk right. They were so tight that they left nothing to imagination, as if they were a second skin. Quite frankly, Dick wondered why Bruce had even bothered with the pants. If they were going to be this tight, Dick preferred that he go naked, and not have to spend time peeling himself out the pants.

 

Eyeing them with a bit of skepticism, he searched for some ripple, some line. 

 

There were none. 

 

He turned and trailed his eyes across the length and width of his legs. As he'd noted from the frontside, they left _nothing_ to the imagination. Every curve and muscle in his thighs were on display, and then of course his eyes drifted to his backside. In the back of his mind, he suspected the way the leather tightly contoured and molded itself to the curve of his ass was a purposeful factor in Bruce’s choice, perhaps it was the only one.

 

When he looked up, _sure enough_ , he found Bruce staring at his ass. 

 

Dick turned back and cocked his head. 

 

"Well?" Dick pressed. 

 

Bruce, who made no attempt to hide the fact that he'd been gawking, looked up. 

 

"What about make up?" Bruce asked. 

 

Dick blinked and gaped at him. He could admit that Bruce had a _talent_ for rendering him utterly speechless at some points. Finding himself shaking his head before proper reasoning could be mustered, his mind flashed back on the last time _that_ had happened. He'd sworn to Bruce then and there that it was last time he ever cross-dressed, and that had been reaffirmed years after that when they started having sex. 

 

He’d do a little lace for Bruce’s sake, but he wasn’t wearing a dress for justice.

 

"No," Dick's voice was clipped. 

 

"It'll make it more convincing," Bruce insisted. 

 

"Bruce, I love you, but if you ever want to see me out of these pants again, in the biblical sense, you'll drop this," Dick titled his head. "And you never answered me?" 

 

The older man blinked, seemingly innocently. 

 

"It'll be more convincing for you to dress up like this.”

 

The two of them were set to meet with Gotham City Alderman Peter Burke. Alderman Burke was the picture-perfect politician. Bright, big chinned, smiling at every photo opportunity he went to, and kissing every baby offered to him, he was _perfect_. He spent his weekends listening to the concerns of his constituents, and his weekdays appearing to push said concerns through Gotham City Hall. Some pundits were all too happy to anoint him as the next Mayor of Gotham, despite the years to the next race.

 

Dick wondered what was going to happen when they were finished. 

 

He wondered how the proud electorate of the Gotham would feel once the truth about Burke was exposed. Would those same pundits be proud of the fact that they once hailed one of the biggest human traffickers on the eastern seaboard as the next mayor?

 

He wondered if it would push them to expose more corruption. Better yet, he wondered if they’d expose that corruption without Batman having to be the spark that lit that fire. 

 

It was a pipe dream, something he'd hoped for most of his life, but one could dream. 

 

"And let me guess, _Matches Malone_?" Dick asked. 

 

Bruce nodded. "The meeting is already set up.”

 

"And you want me to purr in your lap like a kitten and call you daddy?" Dick's lip twitched as he turned back to the mirror. "Where's the camera, is it in the shoes?" 

 

"The belt buckle," Bruce answered.

 

Dick nodded and looked down to the said buckle. It took him only a single moment to spot the tale-tell sign of the fiber optic camera. A curious symptom of having too much cash was the ability to play with it. Bruce had, in short, _perfected_ the use of fiber optic cameras. It was in stark contrast to the old days when they were just starting out and such equipment was, in its best state, a bulky piece of baggage that need to be carried.

 

"Can you at least not use the porn mustache?" Dick looked up to him. "With the full mutton chops? It makes you look like a bad porn cop from the seventies. The _last_ time you asked me to do this, I could barely keep a straight face through the whole trade." 

 

"I'll see what I can do," Bruce's voice was quiet. 

 

Dick looked back to down his visage and smiled, putting his hand on his hips. 

 

This was a role that he _could_ play, and even in the midst of the seriousness of the situation, he found that it was a role that he could have his own fun at while playing.

 

* * *

 

They were being watched. 

 

He knew that the moment his driver opened the door.

 

He'd been told that he had more money than he knew what to do with on more than _one_ occasion. That being said, it afforded him more than enough opportunity to make a show out of things like this. Limousines, high grade haute couture, glitz, Bruce could afford to pull out _all_ the stops to utterly perfect the illusion and make people believe it.

 

He knew that the eyes watching them would be buying it. Law Enforcement in this city were known for many things, chief among them were the frugality for undercover cops.

 

Bruce opened the passenger side door and watched as Dick slid out of it. 

 

It had taken some manner of convincing for Dick to wear the fur coat. The last-minute addition had been something that had struck him oddly enough in a dream. In many ways, Dick _was_ a dream, and he was frequent star of his dreams. Even without the trappings he wore, Dick stood out in the middle of a room, but in _that_ get up, he sucked up all the air along with it. A lithe, lean form of muscle and grace, Dick's character of a sex-up toy was only punctuated with that coat, a sign of pure _avarice_. 

 

That was Bruce’s motivation, even if Dick didn’t see it at first. He wanted Dick on his arm. Naturally stunning, if he was draped in luxury, he only heightened Bruce’s cover.

 

He offered him his hand, and Dick smiled silky at him before taking it. 

 

The Obelisk Nightclub was the center of what he expected was the trafficking ring that Peter Burke ran through the city. As was the case with most victims, once they were sucked into the system, they tended to disappear. Bruce had gotten lucky to identify even a few of Burke's victims, and they all centered back to this _seemingly_ benign club. 

 

Bruce wrapped an arm around Dick's slim waist and pulled him in. 

 

Offering him a bubbly laugh, Dick leaned into him and began to nibble at his ear. 

 

"Keep your hand on my ass," Dick told him between his ministrations. " _Squeeze_." 

 

_‘Such an unreasonable request.’_  

 

Brushing the wry thought aside, he placed his hand on the curve of Dick's ass cheek and squeezed. Fighting past the distinct flashes of arousal that burned down the length of his spine as his earlobe was trapped between Dick's teeth, he knew what was going on. Ahead of them, on the stone steps, a red carpet was spread out before them both, serving to remind him of the fact that they were in a serious situation, one of survival.

 

But he knew that Dick was teasing him. 

 

Patting him on ass twice, they set off.

 

He knew that Dick would be serious in his quest for retribution as he kissed him.

 

* * *

 

"He's delicious," Alderman Burke leered at him. 

 

Dick repressed the urge to shudder and offered him a saucy wink.

 

As a matter of honesty, Peter Burke was not a _physically_ unattractive man. A tad older, he had an above average face, with a full set of teeth, a strong, sharp chin and deep-set dimples. He looked every bit the stereotypical city politician. Dick reckoned that he could probably pass as a game show host if he made polyester a mainstay in his closet.

 

"I know," Bruce groused. "My crown jewel." 

 

Sipping lightly at the martini in his hand, Dick kept his gaze firmly trained on Bruce, even as he splayed himself on his lap to keep the belt focused on Burke. In that position, he was able to take note of three things. The first of which was that Bruce hadn’t worn that mustache that made Dick think he’d get pulled over and searched.

 

The second item of note was the fact that Bruce's hands hadn't left his ass since he’d brought it up. He _had_ noticed Bruce growling at a few attempts to get near him by Burke's people. That simple, but entirely effective and possessive gesture on Bruce's part, had been more than enough for them to understand to not lay a finger on him.  

 

Which suited him just fine, he doubted he could them off in _these_ pants.

What topped it off was the third item of note, Bruce's cock. 

 

Dick could feel it trapped against Bruce's thigh, hot and heavy. He could feel the older man making slight grinding motions against him. Whether he realized that he was dry humping him was up for debate, but he knew that he was having an effect on Bruce.

 

Bruce was _big_. 

 

He wasn't monstrous, not to the point of absurdity, but he was big. It was easy to observe such things in hindsight, but he was shocked by the shock that he felt the first time he'd ever seen it and held it in his hands. He'd seen Bruce naked before. They'd been around each other far too much for that occasion to ever slip by, but that had been the first time they’d been intimate.

 

It was one thing to see him naked in passing, in the shower, or in a rushed attempt to get him out of damaged or dangerous equipment.  It was _another_ thing to take him in hand, to stroke him, to want to see his toes curl in pleasure, only to realize that he could just _barely_ wrap his fingers around him.

 

The first time that he'd taken him in his mouth, he'd had to work himself up to getting down to even a fraction of his length. Dick had choked on it, choked on Bruce's cock, but it had been such a pleasant ache, one that he had endured surprising easiness.

 

Dick twiddled his martini glass in his hand as his thoughts came back to reality. 

 

This needed to be settled, though he could still feel Bruce's eyes lingering on him. 

 

"Is he one of yours?" Peter asked. 

 

"Oh yes," Bruce chuckled. "I try to take him to these meetings, he's my selling point." 

 

He wanted to vomit, but he still was resolute on keeping his strength up. 

 

"I see," Peter answered. "I think you and I can do business if _this_ what you offer." 

 

That being said, it was a bizarre booster of the ego. 

 

" _He's_ not for sale," Bruce's voice didn't disguise the steel that rippled through it. 

 

"I'm not looking to buy him," Peter seemed to size him up one more time, in that licentious gaze that he seemed to constantly fix upon him. "As unfortunate as that is, I might add. You must know where he came from though? Perhaps you can get more?”  

 

Dick idly wondered how fucked up a someone could be to view other human beings as nothing more than chattel to be traded in clubs. Better yet, he wondered how exactly he could manage to control his vast network with public funds, and yet not be caught.

 

"Suppose that I could, how much is it worth to you?" Bruce asked. 

 

"You aren't aware of my business model, are you?" Peter's eyes seemed to sparkle. 

 

Wrapped in the cloak of ignorance that he'd been instructed to be in throughout the entire meeting, Dick hummed to himself and twiddled the glass handle between his fingers. Part of him had almost wanted to ask Bruce to drug him with a minor dose of something so that he’d be able to pass the ditzy illusion off a little easier at this point.

 

Somehow, he could imagine the expression on Bruce face when he turned him down.

 

So, Dick hung on every word, keeping his ears sharp, even as he pretended not to. 

 

"I'm sure that you're aware of my public profession?" He ventured. 

 

Dick had to repress an urge to gawk at the man.

 

His confidence struck Dick as foolish. Peter either thought that the scheme was so brilliant, and that he was surrounded by so much loyalty that he wouldn’t be betrayed, or he was stupid. Dick reckoned that it was somewhere in the middle. He’d dealt with plenty of scumbags like him, but no garden-variety criminal could come up with this.

 

"I'm sure the fine voters of your district are proud of you," Bruce told him. 

 

"I hope it stays that way," Peter nodded proudly. "All of it hinges on their willingness to want aid from the city. Certain bargains can be struck with the right people, the monies are filtered throughout the district, it’s laundered, and they end up in my organization." 

 

There.

 

He’d just admitted that he was using tax payer money to fund his illegal organization. 

 

Dick began to toy with the collar of Bruce's undershirt, rubbing his fingers over Bruce's pulse point. Their situation notwithstanding, Dick was far too pleased to find it racing.

 

"Ingenious," Bruce purred. 

 

With a hand over his chest, Dick could feel Bruce's pulse begin to slow though.

 

It was in the undercurrent in his voice where he was able to firmly grasp the fact that Bruce was excited. He was excited that he'd gotten what he wanted from their target.

 

"And once I filter enough of the principle back to their sources, no one is the wiser."

 

"And so, the people of Gotham City subsidize your business," Bruce finished. 

 

Peter shrugged, it was as if what they were discussing the weather and not embezzlement. "My business subsidizes them, what they don’t know won't hurt them, and so long as I make a profit on my investments, I'm happy to filter the cash back." 

 

By investments, he meant human life. 

 

It took all that he had not to fly across the table and _strangle_ the man. 

 

Ever since he'd first entered the strange and inverted world of Bruce Wayne, he'd realized that there were two types of people that existed within it. The first were the typical type of person, the person who believed that money equated to real power. It was their belief that the world spun on the power of money, no matter its incarnation. 

 

The kind of person that would sell their own mother out for a dollar. 

 

And then, of course, there was the second type of person. The person that realized that in place of money and privilege, sheer will and intellect could conquer _anything_. Bruce fell into that category. Bruce had all of those qualities, including the money and privilege, in spades. Dick was willing to assert that he led that group of people. Had he not been born into exorbitance, Dick had no doubt that he would find his way to it. 

 

And he wouldn’t have to buy and sell people to get into it.

 

"I'm looking for some fresh talent, I'd like to procure five, _maybe_ six, half men, half women," Peter steepled his fingers after a moment silence. "No younger than ten." 

 

He'd make it a point to emphasize to law enforcement that he’d stipulated _that_.

 

Feigning a moment of pause to think it over, Bruce smiled. 

 

"I can do that," Bruce said. "Though that won't come cheap." 

 

"How much?" Peter asked. 

 

"A quarter per head." 

 

Dick tried not to make it obvious that he was watching the exchange with interest, as one of the bodyguards that surrounded Peter brought up two sleek, black briefcases. 

 

"A million and a half," Peter said. "Hundreds, unmarked." 

 

Dick had no doubt Bruce would see if they were indeed unmarked.

 

Bruce nodded, and waved the man over. 

 

And that was that. 

 

The ease of with which human lives were traded was stunningly straightforward. 

 

* * *

 

 

"You look like a tool." 

 

From anyone else, it might have been an insult. However, Jason was as peculiar in his speech, and the meaning of his speech, as Bruce was. The very moment the two of stepped off the lift, he knew a complement in Jason-speak whenever he heard one. 

 

"I feel like one, thank you." Dick smiled pleasantly at him.

 

"Feet off the keyboard," Bruce ordered. "And no smoking down here." 

 

Jason glared darkly at him for a moment, but nevertheless followed the barked instructions. Stabbing the half of a cigarette out on the arm of his chair, Jason tossed it aimlessly onto the floor in all-too obvious attempt to annoy the man and pulled his feet off of the computer keyboard, slapping his gloved hands on his thighs in anticipation.

 

"So, do we have Peter Burke in position?" He asked, looking at them both. 

 

Bruce came to stand before him before he set down the cases of money down. Jason gave Bruce a wary expression before picking up one of them up and unlocking them.

 

The look on Jason's face might have been funny under different circumstances. 

 

"Courtesy of the good tax payers of Gotham?" Jason raised a brow. 

 

"He purchased six human beings with that money," Bruce's voice seemed hard-pressed to suppress the overwhelming contempt he felt for the corrupt politician. "He thinks they're being brought in by the docks next Friday night, he'll be there to pick them up." 

 

Jason looked back down to the cash in the briefcase one more time, before shutting it, locking it, and placing it back down to its companion. The younger of the three men eyed Bruce with another look of wariness. "Do I go in with my guns a-blazing? Or are we simply there to make sure the rat doesn't scurry out of the trap before it closes?" 

 

The docks were Jason's territory. 

 

It was a simple arrangement that they all agreed to respect.

 

In exchange, Jason agreed that he'd have dinner at the manor once a week and would limit his use of high-yield explosives and ammunition in high-density residential areas.

 

For the most part, they all respected it, though all of them were aware that Bruce kept an eye on the goings on in the Red Hood's territory.

 

Though it was a truth that none of them would vocalize, Dick, Jason and Tim knew that Bruce was only humoring his need to eek out territory and enforce it.

 

In any case, it was only by the power of special dispensation that Jason allowed this, and given the subject nature, he'd been only too happy to let them in on the operation.

 

"I think he'll be able to reflect on the gravity of his crimes more sincerely in prison," Dick found himself saying in mock seriousness. "You see the video, you'll know why." 

 

Jason's lips twitched, but he said nothing, _at first_. 

 

And then, in typical Jason fashion, he had to go there. 

 

"Why do you _always_ dress like that on these assignments?" He asked.

 

Dick fixed Bruce with an amused look, “Yeah, Bruce, why do I always dress like this?”

When Bruce said nothing and fixed him with that deer-in-headlights expression, Dick merely laughed and turned back to the chortling Jason.

 

"What's the matter, Little Wing?" Dick cocked his head, smiling. "You add in a regiment of squats and leg presses, daily, and you might get to wear these pants, but until then..." 

 

Dick turned on his heels. 

 

Keeping the smile hidden. 

 

* * *

 

Later, it began to hit him. 

 

As much Dick liked to think in the positive, he doubts were only a natural result of doing what they did for so long. They saw the grim realities of life. What he'd seen in his lifelong partnership with Bruce, what he'd seen in his time alone, it was enough for him to realize that optimism, was just that in itself, _optimism_. It was things like this night that tested his wealth of optimism that outsiders liked to think that he lived inside.

 

The master suite at Wayne Manor was as big as his old apartment. 

 

The bedroom had changed little much since the day he'd first seen it. Save for the furniture, which due to Alfred's _instance_ had been modernized from the ornate wood carvings, it was much as it had been when he'd been a kid. It was Bruce, through and through, the real Bruce, the socially stunted Bruce who's first inclination was to pull in on himself and conceal every conceivable faucet of himself from the public at-large.

 

Dick had subtly endeavored to put his touch on the room ever since he moved in. He began to open the drapes more, _for one_ , and began to put in a vivid color scheme.

 

Such as replacing said drapes, that Bruce insisted on. from a stark black, to a blue. 

 

Dick sided himself closer to Bruce, resting his head on his chest.

 

It was with a great deal of courage that he found it within himself to speak his mind. 

 

"Is it that easy?" Dick asked. 

 

Bruce hummed, an otherwise inarticulate response, but a distinctly-Bruce one. 

 

"I mean, is it that easy to set down some cash, and you've bought someone?" 

 

Dick had found himself growing more and more heated as the words spilled out.

 

He couldn't quite place what had bothered him so much. It was hardly his first experience in dealing with that type of criminal, and it was hardly the first time he'd ever had to witness such a brazen crime take place in front of his eyes.

 

"Yes," Bruce nodded. "You know this." 

 

He did know, he'd know it for many years, but that didn't make it any easier. 

 

"Sometimes it just makes me want to go down the road Jason did." 

 

That brought a real fire to Bruce's eyes, and before he knew it, his larger bed partner had shot up. Bruce was now scrutinizing him in that way that only he could. In the suit, that gaze was almost unstoppable. The lidless eyes of Batman’s cowl, combined with that odd power that Bruce naturally exuded, tended to have that effect. When he wasn’t suited, it was still hypnotizing, as if he could _purposefully_ lock you into his gaze. 

 

"And what would you have done to him?" Bruce's voice grew tart. 

 

Bruce was wide awake now.

 

Dick shook his head. "I probably would've killed him without a meeting."

 

"And what would _that_ solve?" Bruce asked. "Sure, you've killed him, you've ended his life and you've prevented _him_ from hurting more people. But you've given no thought to the very real possibility that his death will just invite _more_ people to take his place." 

 

Dick was silent, he merely kept his gaze forward. 

 

"And you've prevented his victims from their sense of justice," The older man simply sighed. "It'll take _more_ than killing to harm the ring, and you won’t destroy it by killing him, you've simply set yourself into that cycle of violence. Jason’s methods might seem effective on the surface, but as with most things he does, they're not that thought out."

 

He let out a soft snort. 

 

So many years later, and Bruce could still teach him. 

 

"Don't aspire to be Jason," He finished. "You're doing just fine." 

 

That brought a smile to his face, if not a reluctant one. 

 

Dick turned and cocked his head. "I still haven't punished you for those pants." 

 

Watching closely, a smile began to grow over Dick's face as Bruce remained outwardly stoic. It was that typical Bruce calm, a perfectly still face, as if he was utterly unfazed. 

 

"As if anything you do involving those pants can be considered a punishment." 

 

He gave no outward indication of emotion, save for that glittering in his eyes. 

 

"We'll see about that." Dick promised. 

**Author's Note:**

> Truly, it's not Moby Dick, but there's enough of a plot in here to make it worth posting as its own story, so I'll go with it. 
> 
> And another matter of discussion, "You're Beautiful (Good Lord You're Beautiful)" is still being worked on, this story started as an attempt to write another chapter, but as with so many things, it evolved into something else. I'm struggling to simply re-write it in the third person so that it'll be easier. It's so hard to write in first person, I'll come up with something though. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
